


Scents and Sensibility

by wonderble



Category: Toriko (Manga)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderble/pseuds/wonderble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toriko couldn’t smell emotions, not quite. What he could scent, though, was the byproduct of them; the sour bitter tang that came after fear, the adrenaline tingling snap left over from excitement, the musky rush remnants of anger and aggression.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scents and Sensibility

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, yeah, I’m going to Hell for this title. Or at least to Literary hell.
> 
> Originally Written: December 22, 2011. Canon compliant until that date.

Toriko couldn't smell emotions, not quite. What he could scent, though, was the byproduct of them; the sour bitter tang that came after fear, the adrenaline tingling snap left over from excitement, the musky rush remnants of anger and aggression.

As a child, he had often become lost in that heady wonder. Even in the exact same situation, each person or animal had their own unique combination of hormones, cortisones, and adrenal responses. As unique as a thought or a thumbprint, it turned the world into an infinite whirl of scents and sensations to explore.

Training had taught him to make a map to guide his nose out of the cacophony.  Sadness may not leave a concrete scent, but he could associate how an object was smelling with what was happening around them and thus form a vague picture. Animals were simple; usually, their smells were associated with fear, flight, hunger, and sex. Four smells, infinite variations, but yielding the same, easily understood result.

But people, with their myriad of wants, myriad of motives, myriad of needs ...  it worked best if Toriko could associate an almost-smell of a person's emotion with a concrete image of a time or place. Given a few days, he could get a pretty accurate read on anyone.

Perhaps, Ichiryuu had mused, it was why Toriko was so friendly with so many people, but only real friends with a few. Perhaps, his master had said, it was exhausting continually building maps, to get to know a person more and more, in ways they would never know you.

His master had always been an old windbag.

He had known Komatsu, though, for a lot longer than a few days.

From the beginning, figuring out Komatsu had been like reading through a book in a language he had known before birth. The first time he had met him, Komatsu had smelled of adrenaline overlaid with the salty tang of tears. And death ... but all chefs smelled like that, with the blood and  proteins from the meat they handled rubbing off on their hands and clothes, soaking in their very skin. For most, it would have been a rather macabre association, one that would turn stomachs and cause revulsion, but Toriko had found it reassuring. Predators smelled of death.

He did too, he wagered.

It set them apart from the herd of non-hunters; predators knew the worth of the life they took. So, despite the trembling fear, the loud excitement, the dramatic tears, Toriko hadn't minded too much when the little chef had decided to join him on their first hunt together. He hadn't given it much thought back then .. but instincts didn't require much thought, after all. 

_There something in your scent that is like mine_ , his instincts had whispered, and had left it at that.

Time had filled in more of the lines of the scent map that made up his partner. Komatsu had always been a moving riot of noise and dramatics, but there were defined territories to his reactions now, whole tracts of scent markers that had been explored.

Toriko now knew exactly what Komatsu making a breakthrough smelled like  and he associated it with the memory of the ocean cave when they found the puffer whale. Excitement smelled like Komatsu when faced with preparing the Rainbow Fruit; his eyes wide, mouth open, hands waving jerkily. Joy smelled like that moment in Vegetable Sky, with Komatsu's hands warm in his as he accepted the offer of forming a combo. Frustration smelled like the arctic blast of Ice Hell, with blood running down the chef's face and the screams of his voice ringing in the air.

And there were other points in the map too, not tied to specific times or places or emotions. He knew the moment when the chef was too exhausted to go on -- his scent would become like the scent of a plant in the summer's sun, drooping. He knew the pepper snap of Komatsu's anger, and the mellow, almost caramel scent of the chef at rest. He knew the exact copper tang of Komatsu's blood, could track it over continents now if he smelled it, and spill blood in return.

Just with a sniff, their lives opened up together, rich in memory and sensations, and useful, in so many ways ... save one.

He knew, had always known, the exact moment when the chef's hesitant looks in his direction became drenched with the bitter sizzle of indecision, confusion and shame ... and something else. Toriko had began to associate the smell with metal bars, unyielding and entrapping.

He didn't know, couldn't know ... how in the hell was he supposed to know what to do with this knowledge? He might have a map, but he had no idea where to go with it.

If Komatsu was prey, he could be hunted down. If he was a mere sexual infatuation, it would have been over; they both were willing, after all. If Komatsu was a mere friend, he could have gently reinforced some distance or tried consciously to tune it out, as he did out of respect for the privacy of the other three kings.

 Komatsu wasn't prey, wasn't a casual tumble in the sheets, wasn't a friend. He was a partner and knowing his scent and its infinite intricacies was crucial to their survival in the gourmet age. Regarding the scent (and survival) of Komatsu ... Toriko'd cut off his own nose before he ignored it.

But how does one tell one's partner that, _hey, Komatsu, I can smell that you're lusting after me, and guess what, I don't mind? Can't you smell that I'm feeling the same way too?_

It would have been so much easier if they were animals, if he had still been chained (literally, figuratively) as he was before. Sniff, sniff, and they'd know the response (or to respond) with fear, flight, hunger, or sex.

Being human (or mostly so) truly sucked.

If he made the wrong move, Komatsu's scent would quickly turn to the flight-panick-flee smell, similar to the time they had faced the galala crocodile. Then it'd take forever to get his scent back on track and comfortable again.

Over time, the caged-bar-trapped smell grew stronger, so much so that it seemed it was all he could smell. (At times, Toriko wondered if where he was in that image -- on the outside looking in or on the inside wanting out.) 

_How could you not smell it too, not remember everything every time, not put our history together, and realize what's going on now?!  How can you not have the same understanding as me?!  
_

_How can you not know me? Why can't I figure out a way to talk about it?!  
_

But how could he explain something that was unique only to him? It wasn't fair, not to himself, not to Komatsu. Moreover, knowing the shadow-scent of someone's feelings wasn't the same as actually having that person confirm it themselves.

And it was in times like these -- and not when Komatsu had to be rescued from yet another animal, not when he was running away in fear, not  when he was gawping at something he really should have known -- it was during times when Komatsu stared at him,  misunderstanding  just _what_ he meant to the bishokuya and not comprehending how much Toriko accepted him regardless of his strengths and weaknesses... it was really only at these times Toriko could feel the weight of just how different they were.

This night, though, even the cloying scent of fire and grilled woodpig meat could not drown out the growing cage-bar-trapped scent that emanated from Komatsu like waves as he prepared the meat, eyes darting back and forth.

Komatsu's hands, though, had been steady as ever on his utensils, fingers capably testing the elasticity of the cooking meat, stirring the pot full of gravy, adding this spice or that.

"Toriko-san, um, are you okay?" he asked as he began plating the meat.

"Hmm? I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"Well, ah ...um I know it's really rude of me to say, but I think I'm your partner and you know I get worried."

"Yeaaah?"

"It's just, you haven't really been yourself lately, I don't think," wiping his hands off in his apron, Komatsu finished pouring the gravy over the meat. "Not for the past two gourmet hunts, at least. Maybe more."

"What do you mean?" Toriko rubbed his hands together; no matter what the situation, Komatsu's cooking was enough to lift any of his moods.

Komatsu bit his lip, then straightened. "You have to tell me, you know, if my cooking's slipping!"

"What?! Of course not!" Toriko frowned, feeling slightly bewildered at the sudden serious change in their conversation. All thoughts of eating disappearing in the face of the ridiculous accusation.

"What in the hell are you talking about? Your cooking is as delicious as ever ..."

Just thinking about it made drool pool at the edges of his mouth. But the grave look on Komatsu's face and the pepper tang of his scent  told him that bolting down the food without first finishing the conversation would be a big, possibly ear-ringing-argument-starting mistake.

"What's bringing this on, anyway?"

"I can tell, Toriko-san! I have my own ways of reading you, you know!"

"Eeeeeeh?" Toriko straightened. For once, all thoughts of food fled. "You ..."

_Have your own ways of  ... reading me?!_

Komatsu frowned. "Of course I do. How else would I know just the right amount of seasoning to use without overwhelming your nose? Or when to cook spicy stuff or when to go easy and cook something mellow? The best way to reduce the smoke on the campfire so it won't dull your senses? Or the best food to give you enough energy to go after some ferocious beast?! But lately, you've been distracted by something else, and it's like you're not really tasting the dishes you're wolfing down -- at least, even more than usual. So if it's not my cooking ... what could be more important than that?"

Large brown eyes filled with tears as Komatsu turned to stare at the ground.

"Komatsu?" Toriko said softly.

"And I was wondering if ... well, there's probably the only thing, um, that's more important to me than ingredients and cooking." Komatsu mumbled. "So I was w-wondering, um ... well, now that I think about it, I'm being stupid. It can't be that."

 _Oh._ Toriko swallowed. _Perhaps we're both kinda stupid in our own ways, aren't we? There is a difference in our strength ... but only because our strengths are different.The way we read each other is different. Damnit, how does anyone ever figure out ANYTHING about each other if we all see the world differently?  
_

_Is this what it's like for normal people too?  
_

The thought was like a sunrise, cresting over his mind.

"Coco would laugh his ass off over how blind we're being," he finally said. "Yeah, maybe I've been a ... little ... distracted, but it's not your cooking, Komatsu ... and I think you know that.

"And it's not our adventures and I think you know that too. But since it's neither about getting food or going on adventures, I don't want to be the predator or hunter this time. I can't ... I don't _want_ to rely on just my instincts or just my senses. Unfortunately, that makes this new territory for me."

Instincts and heightened senses were well and good. Instincts and senses could tell him about scents and shadow-emotional-scents. But being human meant _knowing_ was just as important. And in this, Toriko was beginning to realize, he was all too human ... in this, he wanted to be all human.

"I'm gonna need some help. I don't want to mess up you and me and what I think it can be.  And I think we both want the same thing ... together."

The look on his chef's face was also like the coming of dawn -- not quite bright, hesitant, but with its own growing light. "T-toriko-san. I ... but why didn't you ... I ..."

"Because ..." _Because if I'm not the hunter or the predator in this one, if I don't WANT to be the predator or hunter then ... "_ Komatsu, _you're_ the one that's good at innovation, at combining something old into something even better. I've been waiting for your lead."

"M-my ... what?" Komatsu hesitated. It came again the cautious bitter sizzle snap of fear, confusion, entrapment  and then ... "Oh."

Toriko blinked. This was new. A mix of scents, like when Komatsu gathered up his courage, when he had found a solution, or when he had made a resolution. The metal-entrapment-smell was gone.

If Toriko, was to give it a name, the new scent would be like a summer's day. Of freedom.

 _Oh_. _OH!_ Toriko blinked again as Komatsu hesitantly came over. A small hand (spices, meat, and death ... and life, so much life), rested on his. "O-o-okay ... let's try this then ..."

Toriko waited. And inhaled deeply, ready to create another point of reference.

-End

**Author's Note:**

> And then they ate that roasted woodpig, because this is Toriko and well, roast!pig > sexy!tiems.
> 
> Well, maybe they had sexy!tiems afterwards, but what I know is they demolished the pig first.
> 
> Much love and thanks go to: furansu-pan, latenightiridescence, bktcm, celloowls, jennpy, 0blue-bird0, knight-of-eire, deathangel499297, yummybaconofdoom, and psychobaka for supporting this fic when it was back on Tumblr. We're a small fandom, but y'all make it worth being in it.


End file.
